Say What?
by Kimmychu
Summary: Sometimes, the most interesting part of an investigation is the interview. Especially when Danny and Flack get a perp like theirs, who comes from a particular town in Austria. Humor fic!


**Say What?**

Fandom: CSI:NY

Author: Kimmychu

Rating: FRT

Pairings: None, but you _might_ see Danny/Flack is you squint _really_ hard.

Content Warning: Nada. Just lots of profanity, but it's there for a good reason. Really!

Summary: Sometimes, the most interesting part of an investigation is the interview. Especially when Danny and Flack get a perp like theirs, who comes from a particular town in Austria. Humor fic!

Disclaimer: Danny and Flack don't belong to me. I don't know whether to be pleased or not that the perp in the story does. Hah!

**( Oooo …... oooO )**

Author's Notes: Okay. Please to not be taking this story seriously. This is meant for a laugh, because the angst in **Roses and Thorns **is keeling me over. All I have to say is, yes, the perp's surname _is_ a real surname as well as his first name, believe it or not. And yes, the place he comes from _is_ a real place. Just Google it and you'll find a Wiki article about it. Bwahahah! Hope you guys enjoy the story, and that you get a good laugh outta it. And, uhm, if you really do have the same surname … I'm not sure whether to give you my sincere condolences, or tell you that you have possibly one of the coolest surnames evah.

**( Oooo …... oooO )**

The perp sure looked like a guy who was from out of town, alright.

Flack gave the stranger a quick look over from head to waist and back up again. The rest of the man was blocked from view by the interview table at which he, Danny and the perp sat. The guy's plain white t-shirt didn't reveal anything about him, but his facial features screamed foreigner without doubt.

_Probably from Europe or something_, Flack surmised, _because his accent sure as hell ain't American_.

Flack flipped open his black notebook and took out a pen from his jacket pocket, ready to jot down whatever important details the as yet nameless man was going to spill. Danny was sitting next to him, arms on the table top, fingers steepled.

Ah, Danny was feeling confident today about this case's suspect.

He was, too.

A young woman had been discovered dead last night, with multiple stab wounds to her chest in the back alley of that new, popular club called Seventh Heaven. She had no ID, which made things a little more difficult for Flack. Good thing there was AFIS and super fast computers these days. He should be receiving a call from Adam anytime now about the vic's identity.

While he and Danny were at the murder scene and Danny was processing the area, a prostitute had approached him and dished out vital information about some dark-haired guy with a weird accent whom she picked up. She assumed the man was like any other guy she'd picked up before, until it turned out that once just wasn't sufficient for her client, and he wanted more. Without paying extra.

Her answer to that had been to give the jerk the finger, stomp on his feet and run out of the alley like a bat out of hell.

She wouldn't have come up to Flack at all, if it hadn't been for the uncanny resemblance she bore to the dead girl who was lying in a pool of blood, in the exact spot where she and her client had done their … business.

Heh, he had to admit he was rather amused by the prostitute having stolen the guy's hotel room key card after their canoodling. Nothing says, "Don't mess with me, jerkface," like fucking a prostitute over and then finding her in your hotel room stealing all your stuff in revenge.

The hotel key sped up the investigation right quick. All he and Danny had to do was go over to the hotel, ask for particulars on the person who was staying in the room with the number printed on the card and nab the perp. It was even more convenient that the guy was right there in the lobby, waiting to be transferred to another room when they arrived at the hotel.

_Wham, bam, thank you, mister, you're coming with us to the police station._

Flack began the interview with a cough to clear his throat.

"_So_, Mister …"

Flack trailed off into silence to let the dark-haired, green-eyed man introduce himself.

"Fuck."

Both of Flack's eyebrows shot up at the guy's nonchalant reply.

"What?"

"Fuck," the man said a second time.

Flack's brows swiftly lowered into an indignant scowl. Okay, he's confronted a _lot_ of rude people before, but _this_ guy sure took the cake and more.

He leaned forward and pointed a finger straight into the man's lean face.

"Okay, _listen_ up, _buddy_, I'm as _manly_ as the next guy, but you better talk with a _cleaner_ mouth than that -"

"Fuck! I am Mr. _Fuck!_"

The silence in the room was ear-splitting.

Flack swore he was hearing some funny whining sound coming out of Danny's gaping mouth.

After a minute, Flack said with an astounded tone, "Your name ... is Mr. _Fuck_."

"Yes! That is correct. I am Mr. Fuck from Fucking, Tarsdorf in Austria."

Flack bit his lower lip.

What the, is this some kind of a _joke?_

"_Okay_, Mister ... Fuck. What were you doing in the alley behind Seventh Heaven last night?"

"Fucking."

Flack blinked hard. _Really _hard.

"_What?_"

"Fucking. I was fucking."

"You were _fucking_."

"Yes," Mr. Fuck answered him, "I told you, I was fucking."

Danny looked like he was about to explode into a terrifying fit of giggles.

"So, Mr. Fuck from Fucking, Austria," Danny croaks out in a very odd-sounding voice, "You were _fucking_ in the alley."

"Yes."

Flack stared blatantly at the suspect. His eyes had to be popping out of their sockets by now. Holy crap, was this guy for _real?_

He coughed once.

"And … do ya know the name of the woman you were ... havin' _sexual intercourse _with?"

"I don't know. We were fucking too much to talk."

Something akin to a strangulated guffaw escapes Danny's pursed lips.

"Excuse me for a moment," the CSI mumbled, looking downwards at the floor. Even with his face hidden from view, it was apparent that it was as red as a tomato with the exertion of reining in his amusement.

Without another word, Danny jumped to his feet and slowly sauntered to the door, opening it, walking through it and closing it behind him with a soft click.

For a few minutes, there was no sound.

And then, Danny lost it.

"Aaaaaaaahahahahahha_HAAAAAH!_ Mr. Fuck … from Fucking - _ahahahah_ - Austria. Fuck … _fucking_ - _Hahahaaaahahhah!_"

A thumping sound began to accompany Danny's high-pitched, irrepressible laughter.

Oh, geez, Danny was _banging_ on the _wall_.

Inside the interrogation room, it was all Flack could do to maintain his deadpan countenance and not cover his face with his hands. It was bad enough listening to Danny laugh like a hysterical nutball, but he had to look at the man whom Danny was laughing about _and_ not dissolve into giggles himself.

It took Danny another minute or so to cool off.

The door opened, and Danny ambled back in, calm and collected as he sat in his chair and returned to his previous pose at the table. The only evidence of his uproarious fit outside the room was the ruddiness of his face and the way he was blinking like there were tears of hilarity in his eyes.

Without turning his head away from their perp, Flack asked casually, "You okay, Danno?"

Danny's lips twitched. "Never better."

Flack slapped his notebook onto the table surface and resumed the interview with, "Right, Mr. Fuck, if that _is_ your real name ... what time did you leave the alley after you fu- _uh_, had sex there?"

Mr. Fuck, unbelievably enough, appeared to be wholly unaffected by Danny's meltdown. Maybe the guy had lousy hearing or something.

"I don't know. I enjoyed the fucking too much to remember anything. But I remember she stepped on my foot afterwards!" their suspect said, shrugging his shoulders.

Flack's frown deepened. Right, this guy was beginning to get on his nerves. He couldn't tell whether the perp was messing with them, or was absolutely serious the entire time. That was _not_ good.

And he sure as hell wasn't going to be one-upped by a guy called Mr. _Fuck_.

"_Oooookay_. Can you at least tell me an _estimated_ time when you left that alley and returned to your hotel room?"

"I _told_ you, I _don't_ remember! I didn't even know I lost my room key until I went back to my room. And the staff was so _unhelpful! _They kept laughing for no reason every time they talk to me!"

Danny started to snigger uncontrollably.

At last, Mr. Fuck shifted his attention to Danny instead, frowning at the snickering detective and pointing a finger at him.

"Hey, your friend is _laughing_ at me!"

Flack had to grit his teeth just to sustain a straight face.

"Nah, he just has a medical condition that causes his face to seize up like that."

"Oh." The suspect tilted back in his seat, scratched at his neck and said in all seriousness to Danny, "Then you should see a doctor."

Flack hoped to God Danny wasn't about to bust his gut.

"Buddy, I could say the same to _you_," Danny replied in a surprisingly level voice.

Mr. Fuck was turning out to be one obtuse man.

"Oh, I am just fine. Although, I cannot say the same of people in this city." The green-eyed man swiveled his head towards Flack and continued, "Everywhere I go, they are like your friend. I say hello and introduce myself, and they become like your friend. I think lots of people in New York have your friend's illness. They should all go see a doctor."

Flack shut his eyes for a second.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it's only a _temporary_ problem."

Okay, they were actually in some Twilight Zone skit and any minute now, this man who claimed to be Mr. Fuck was going to disappear in a puff of smoke and he and Danny would just laugh about the whole nutty situation -

"But yah, I don't know, I just remember going back to my hotel afterwards and drinking in bar. That's it."

Flack took a deep breath. Okay, good, this was more like it. Less fucking around, more talking.

And _shit_, did that sound wrong or what.

"You have witnesses to back up your alibi?"

It was the perp's turn to blink in confusion. "What?"

"Is there anyone who can back up your story?" Danny said.

Flack glanced at his partner. Well, it looked like Danny's finally getting back to his collected self again.

"Oh ... sure. There's this purple-haired woman I met at the bar that night."

Or not.

Danny's lips were twitching once more.

"Yeah? And do ya remember _her _name?"

"No, we were fucking in her room. It was fucking-a. She said she liked my name a lot. Hilarious, she said."

Flack knew the interrogation was long gone into the crapper as he watched Danny incline forward on the table till that high forehead of his was touching the table top. The loud thud, of all things, was what created a crack in Flack's pokerfaced mask.

"Okay, Mr. Fuck from Fucking, Austria," Flack said as smoothly as possible, "We'll be lookin' for you again so don't go anywhere outside of the city just yet."

The suspect simply shrugged.

"Okay."

Suddenly, Mr. Fuck sat up and gave Flack an intent stare.

"Hey, are you a single man?"

A muscle in Flack's forehead began to throb in tandem with his rising blood pressure.

"_What?_"

"You single, handsome man, I'm sure my sister will like you very much. You ever heard of Kissing?"

Flack blinked once. Twice. Two more times when the dark-haired man with the foreign accent sitting opposite him stared back at him in all earnestness.

This guy. Could not. Be real.

_No way_.

"Yah, Kissing is very nice!" Mr. Fuck added, waving his hands around in his enthusiasm. "I'm sure you'll like it very much. You look like a Kissing man! But then I think my sister is starting to like Petting more."

Danny was sitting up again, except Danny wasn't helping him at all by laughing out loud and rocking back and forth and clutching at his sides like that.

Mr. Fuck's thin brows furrowed in contemplation.

"I don't know, maybe she is moving to Petting this year."

Flack craned his head at an angle.

Huh? _Moving?_

"Wait, _wait_. Kissing and Petting are _towns?_"

"_Yah! _In Bavaria, Germany! Kissing and Petting!"

Flack couldn't stop himself anymore, and smacked his hands over his face, shaking his head from side to side.

That's it. This interview's _over_.

"Okay. _I've had it_. I'm puttin' Mac and Stella on you the next time you gotta be interviewed."

"You sure you don't want to meet my sister?"

Flack immediately swung his arm and pointed straight at the door of the room.

"_OUT!_"

"Fine, fine, I go, _I go_."

Mr. Fuck got to his feet at an unhurried pace, brushing at his t-shirt and dark brown trousers as if he'd just gone through a regular hair cut instead of an interrogation with one riled up homicide detective and one cracked up CSI.

It was unbelievable. The guy really had no idea how his surname was affecting people around him.

_Well_, Flack thought, _if I lived in a place called Fucking, having a surname like Fuck won't make much of a difference anyway_.

"Wait a minute."

Both he and the suspect looked at Danny.

Danny had that look on his face, the one with the mischievous smile that said, _Gosh, I'm gonna enjoy this so much_.

"I'd like to see your identification card," Danny said to Mr. Fuck.

"My ID? I didn't bring that with me on my holiday. But! I always take my passport with me," Mr. Fuck answered, patting one of his trouser side pockets.

"Okay." Danny held out one hand. "I'd like to see it, please."

Flack expected the guy to make a fuss about it. Maybe complain about the American cop who laughed at him demanding to see his passport when he had the right to say no. However, their perp didn't even utter so much as a grunt of protest. In an instant, Mr. Fuck's dark red passport with its gold letterings on the cover was in Danny's hands.

Danny sucked in a breath, then flicked open the passport, skimming over the page which had the printed information about its owner.

Flack watched Danny's lips tremble violently.

"Ah, that is an old picture," their suspect said, in reference to his portrait photograph in the passport. "I look nicer now, no?"

"Yeah … yeah, I guess you do," Danny replied in a blasé manner.

The dark-haired man from Austria strutted out of the room after being given back his passport, and in any other circumstance, Flack would have registered that as suspicious behavior in light of their bizarre interview. It's not every day that he comes across a suspect who's literally named Mr. Fuck.

And _ohh_, he knew why Danny asked for the guy's ID.

"C'mon," Flack drawled with a wide smirk. "Hit me with it."

Danny turned his head to gaze at him.

They stared at each other for a minute.

"Hilarius Fuck."

Flack and Danny were still laughing their asses off when Mac and Stella entered the room. Mac demanded to know what the hell was going on, and for some reason, the flummoxed expression on the older CSI's face made them laugh even harder. In the end, Stella had to slap Danny on the back numerous times to get the man breathing properly again.

He, on the other hand, managed to regain control of himself once he bent forward on his chair and stuck his head between his legs.

Oh yeah.

Mr. Hilarius Fuck's _definitely_ one story for the grandkids.

When they're old enough, of course.

**Fin.**


End file.
